


Take 1

by mneiai



Series: Collapse [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Dark, M/M, Vol'jin Survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14029224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: If Vol’jin had come to collect him personally, there would be no escaping.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First in a selection of plots I have jumbled in my head wherein Vol'jin survives and the loa give him visions that cause him to attack the Alliance after the Legion is dealt with.

The world was burning around him, but Tyrathan had stayed focused on the fighting, refusing to give into the building hopelessness of the people around him. The small band of survivors from the assault on Goldshire used guerilla tactics, taking out as many of the Horde as they could, but he knew, they all knew, that it did little.

Stormwind, Teldrassil, Ironforge...the great capitals of the Alliance had fallen, leaving the forces scattered and largely leaderless. The hunters and rogues Tyrathan had been working with were the only familiar faces he’d seen in weeks and every morning they woke up at least one person short, unable to blame anyone for deserting.

When their final battle came, it was a flurry of arrows, knives, and smoke grenades. Bodies falling around him as Tyrathan got close enough to see who was commanding the Horde forces that had been sent after them--and hesitated just enough for his arrow to go wide, striking Vol’jin’s shoulder instead of his neck.

He’d never seen him close up in his face paint, but he’d recognize him anywhere. Suddenly, Tyrathan was left wondering if the increasing pressure on them from the Horde had simply been a coincidence, as they had assumed, or if Vol’jin had realized his presence and come for him.

He still fought, unsure what would happen to him and even more worried for the rest of the ragtag Alliance band with him. He managed to help a few escape, fleeing into the woods and disappearing, but he made no effort to do the same--if Vol’jin had come to collect him personally, there would be no escaping.

Vol’jin approached like Tyrathan was a wild, skittish animal, making every attempt to seem non-threatening. His people--almost all trolls Tyrathan had realized off-handedly during the fight and now seemed more significant than he’d given it credit for--stayed back, forming a circle around them. Trapping Tyrathan within.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Ya think I be leaving ya in the woods? Crawling in the muck, surviving off anything ya be getting your hands on?”

Tyrathan flinched back, remembering Pandaria before the monastery, the months when he was unstable and alone. Things hadn’t been nearly that bad, not yet, but...he couldn’t say they wouldn't have gotten there, eventually.

His moment of distraction was filled with Vol’jin closing the gap between them, his larger hand gripping Tyrathan’s forearm and pushing gently, lowering his bow towards the ground. His other hand cupped the back of Tyrathan’s head, rubbing against his scalp.

“Da minute I be hearing of a group of old Alliance causing so much havoc, I be knowing where you were.” He leaned in and crouched down, putting their eyes on the same level. “It be time to come home, Tyrathan Khort,” he whispered, “it be time to stop running.”

He kept his expression blank, even as the mention of ‘home’ tore at his heart. His home was gone, destroyed in the invasion. And no matter what Vol’jin thought, Tyrathan doubted even he could make something feel like home again.

But he nodded, forcing his body to relax, and allowed Vol’jin to guide him to where a mage and a portal waited for them.


	2. Chapter 2

Orgrimmar was exactly as Tyrathan had imagined it, from the descriptions and pictures he’d seen. Which was good, because that meant he already had a grasp of the layout and the surrounding environment. 

He’d heard rumors that some Alliance forces were hiding out in the ruins of Theramore, if he had to run he could try to make it there. Though, that might be the first place on Kalimdor that Vol’jin thought to look. Better to try to sneak through a portal to Pandaria, perhaps, and move from there.

“I be feeling your mind working from here,” Vol’jin commented, seated in his throne as Tyrathan “politely” looked around the room. When Tyrathan looked back at him, Vol’jin’s expression was a serious one. “...I know you be mad. You be having every reason to be mad. But the Alliance be gone, now. You and me--nothing be keeping us apart, anymore.”

Tyrathan frowned, stepping closer. “I’m still human. We’re still enemies.”

“Why? Humans not be having enough power to be fighting back against the Horde. Ya be better off surrendering.”

“And what? Becoming slaves?” The words came out harsher than he meant them to, but he did nothing to take them back.

Vol’jin surged out of his throne and stalked towards Tyrathan, who calmly held his ground. “I not be a slaver, Tyrathan Khort. I be making any survivors who be coming to us a part of the Horde.”

“And you want me here as an example of that?” Tyrathan’s fists clenched at his side, wondering if that’s what Vol’jin was hoping for--a docile human pet to parade around.

Vol’jin’s expression collapsed for a moment before he regained control. “No! I be...I be wanting you by my side.” He touched one of Tyrathan’s fists, holding it gently in his larger hand. “I knew you, you of all men, would survive. Finding you, that be the problem. Now that I did, I be wanting what I always wanted. I be wanting you, as you.”

Tyrathan remembered the burned remains of Morelan’s home, the smell of cooked flesh still wafting from it, the orcs celebrating their victory as if the locals had put up any sort of fight. Celebrating until they were cut down by Tyrathan’s arrows.

“I guess you have me, then, don’t you? As me.”

***

As a hunter, waiting came easily to Tyrathan. And this was a hunt, even if it was in a different form than what he was familiar with. So he waited, biding his time, learning the ins and outs of the Horde and its leadership. 

Sometimes Vol’jin made him second guess what he was doing. They lived in the same rooms, with no attempt at pretense. Tyrathan sat beside him at meals, as any member of the Horde would with their mate. He avoided other humans, not for the reasons he thought Vol’jin suspected (the silent, and not so silent, judgement of his people for a traitor who was spreading his legs to the monster that destroyed their kingdoms), but to separate himself from them in the minds of the Horde around them.

Tyrathan did not do anything to make them distrust him, to make them question his loyalty to Vol’jin. It was almost pleasant, the moments where he could fall into his role and simply act as he might have, in another life, under other circumstances. When he’d lean against Vol’jin towards the end of a long night, not caring who saw, or when he’d pull Vol’jin away from work when he hadn’t slept or eaten in too long, plying him with food and drink, and tempting him into a real bed.

The leaders of the Horde races often seemed to forget he wasn’t one of them, talking about topics in front of him he did not think anyone else was privy to outside their circle. And after a few years, Tyrathan started to leak that information. To their rivals, to their enemies, to the spies he knew were part of the remaining Alliance forces. 

The destabilization of the Horde took even longer than the initial waiting had, but it was worth it. Watching them fight amongst each other, watching them break apart, helplessly. Watching Vol’jin order one after the other of his people killed for their disloyalty and plots against him. 

Watching them break, the way Tyrathan felt broken inside, staring at the tiny body of his youngest daughter, who had managed to escape the burning building only to be beaten to death by a battle-mad orc. When he’d realized this his other children, his wife, her new husband, were all gone. The family he hadn’t deserved, but that had welcomed him back with tears and prayers of thanks to the Light. 

When the Alliance had rallied enough for a last assault against the Horde, it was Vol’jin that kept them going. He was the only one giving them hope, giving them a sense that they could survive. 

Tyrathan walked into the war room, the same way he had for years, and dismissed the guards. They all thought they knew what would happen, were relieved he’d get the Warchief to take a break. But it was a knife in the chest that Tyrathan gave him, staring into his eyes as the life faded from them. The same knife sliced through his own skin easily enough, after. 

Maybe he could finally see his family again.


End file.
